32-20 Blues
Sometimes the blues get violent; then they becomes the reds.

Photo © John Green
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Your soft wet snout and your stiff, muddy hair make my sky explode in dazzling white cascades.


This is my friend Beau Kelly, with whom I lost contact over 30 years ago. I took this picture of him, his guitar, his dog pancho and a carp he had just caught as we were standing on some floating logs under the St. John's Bridge near Portland Oregon. We had gone fishing after playing acoustic guitars in a restaurant all night. We considered ourselves "bluesmen."
Mansion on the Hilltop is an example of the type of song we played sometimes, as I've remembered it and played it this Sunday morning. I understand Elvis has done it, but I haven't yet heard his version. I remember it from a one-room church in a valley in Virginia, where I sang it a few times on Sunday mornings with a very small group of people I knew.